Lunar
by eighty-8
Summary: ZXC: "Those were the days where she would wake as a warm body in his bed. Those were the days where he would kiss her pale skin and ask if she came to him from the moon." / Once upon a time, a boy met a girl unlike any other he had ever known, and once upon a time every word from her lips was a lie. / AU. Spies.
1. lunar

(** l** _u n a_ _r_ )

* * *

Zach is drunk.

Everything is burning and spinning and pulsing and the crowd is writhing and he's _drunk_.

He shouldn't have come. Things always turn out the same way: with a warm bed and a new girl and a pounding head.

But he prefers this to drinking alone.

(He prefers a stranger's bed to his leather couch.)

Something shiny catches the corner of his eye. A girl in a silver shift dress.

She is radiant.

Now Zach notices nothing else.

The girl weaves her way through the crowd and across the room. She jabs the door open with her elbow, careful not to spill the two violet cocktails in her gloved hands.

Zach follows her. He must know this girl.

By the time he reaches the fire escape outside, there is nothing to be seen. Zach climbs to the top of the building, and there she is, her soft lilac hair blowing slightly in the breeze. He watches as she knocks back one of the purple drinks and then lights a Marlboro Gold, sighing smoke into the chill air.

The girl turns and smiles at him brilliantly as though entirely expecting him. _"Come here. This is for you."_

Confused, Zach numbly takes his place against the railing, beside this fascinating creature. He takes the glass from her thin fingers. _"What is your name?"_

Normally by now he has a girl all figured out.

(But of course, she isn't normal.)

(She is an enigma.)

_"Claire."_

Her dark eyes meet his, and he is unnerved by the seeming absence of pupil. They are black holes and he is _lost_.

_"Such a plain name,"_ he murmurs.

It doesn't do her justice.

Claire cocks her head to the side like a curious, beautiful bird. _"And what name were you expecting?"_

Her red lips close on the cigarette as she takes another drag; lets out a slow breath.

_"I have no idea."_

A silence falls between them.

The city is laid out around them. The night is late but it is live.

Zach takes a sip of his drink. The flavours are sweet and unfamiliar; intoxicating.

He takes another.

The club's DnB throbs beneath them.

Claire drops the cigarette to the damp concrete roof. It hisses.

_"You are beautiful."_

The words slip from the tip of his tongue before he can stop them. Clumsy fool.

_"Am I?"_

_-"Yes."_

_"I don't feel it."_

_-"You are the most lovely thing I have ever seen."_

She scoffs.

_"No I'm not."_

Her words hang in the air.

Zach reaches out a hand and tentatively trails a finger along the perfect white flesh of her inner arm.

(Yes, she is real.)

Claire closes her eyes at his touch.

_"Kiss me."_

Their lips give the slightest of brushes.

He leans toward her as though she were the sun.

And they are kissing, to put it simply.

(She tastes like smoke and blood and strawberry Chapstick.)

.:.

Zach wakes early the next morning certain the night before was some kind of dream.

But she's laying there beside him, breathing slow, lilac hair fanned out over the crisp cotton sheets. Entirely dead to the world.

He wonders how long it's been since she last got a proper night's sleep.

It's caffeine cravings that force Zach out of bed. Half-asleep, he brews coffee with one of those expensive Italian espresso machines.

He's onto his second cup when he feels a hand smooth over the back of his t-shirt. He spooks, coffee spilling on the tabletop.

Claire flashes him an impish grin and moves to pour herself a glass of milk from the fridge. She got him good.

Zach's impressed; he never heard a sound.

It's only when he turns to see Claire leaning against the kitchen counter that he realizes she's clothed in just one of his old sweaters. She's surprisingly decent - it reaches mid-thigh. Even so, Zach is transfixed.

You'd think he's never seen skin before.

.:.

_"What do you want to do today?"_

_-"I'm new here. Show me your city."_

They spend the day out in the rain and he takes her everywhere.

To all of the well-known spots with the tourists in their awful plastic yellow rain ponchos where he doesn't need the bland, scripted speeches of the guides.

To his favourite places almost nobody knows about. This grimy mexican joint that actually makes the best enchiladas. This niche gallery with the most beautiful art. This park bench overlooking an old construction site with its shattered glass and its split concrete and red rusted beams.

Several times, Zach loses his train of thought as her wide black eyes push everything from his mind.

Claire's falling in love with the city as Zach sees it. Everything is rose-tinted and beautiful even though the day is grey and dead and the place has seen better days.

Zach is excited to show this strange, new girl everything about his world.

Claire pretends she hasn't seen it all before.

The drizzle turns torrential mid-afternoon, and Claire and Zach seek refuge in a musty, dated cinema. An old film is showing. He pays for the double feature.

The movie begins, but neither of them is looking at the screen. They sit in the worn velvet seats, shivering and tormented.

Her eyes haven't moved from his lips in a full five minutes and he is captivated by the curve of her neck.

She itches to weave their fingers together but they both know that with the slightest touch a dam would burst and there'd be no holding back.

She sits on her hands.

There's an elderly couple in the back right corner.

Ok, this is getting ridiculous now, they should focus. Zach shifts in his seat, boring his eyes into the screen. Claire studies his profile out of the corner of her eye. Damp mussed hair, his lashes, his nose, the curves of his lips.

He can't take it anymore; stands and grabs her arm. The two make a swift exit.

They share a few frenzied, gasping kisses beneath the shelter of an awning, their hands leaving trails of fire. Claire mutters to herself through swollen lips that it's just a cover.

The rain hasn't let up at all, but he's up for it if she is, and they make a mad dash for his apartment block.

Ten minutes later they're standing, dripping in his living room unsure where to begin.

.:.

They have sex for the first time that grey afternoon.

Claire smiles at Zach and presses a small kiss to the base of his neck; the juncture between collarbones, as she slides his wet t-shirt up his torso.

He slowly slips her silver dress from the night before right over her head as though they have all the time in the world.

His jeans fall to the floor. Her underwear, his underwear. Time slows.

They lay down on the bed.

He leaves a hundred kisses upon her pale skin.

She traces all of the words she cannot tell him in another language on the small of his back.

She swallows his moans whole, she is greedy.

And, through all of the pleasure she dies a thousand tiny deaths as the realization strikes, again and again, that this is not how things can always be.

.:.

Those were the days where she would wake as a warm body in his bed. Those were the days where he would kiss her pale skin and ask if she came to him from the moon.

Claire begins to eat pomegranates. They remind her of the Greek legend of Persephone. She knows one pomegranate seed for another remaining _month_ in this place is pushing her luck. Let it give her another _day_ with Zach.

On the nights, they drive nowhere talking to each other about everything there is to know.  
(_"Tell me something you have never told anyone ever before."_)

Zach has to work most days at his mother's company. It's a family business.

Sometimes Claire comes into work with him; sits at his desk like she owns the place, and distracts him from doing his job. And of course she's just playing solitaire - anyways, what are the chances that this strange, unknown girl can hack computers?

She vanishes for days at a time.

Zach doesn't know what to do with himself; he can't concentrate on the simplest things. His work suffers, as does his social life.

The scenarios in his head torment him, always involving her spending these black days in bed with another man.

Zach's never thought he's the jealous type.

He gags as he forces down another charred dinner. He's become used to her cooking him another amazing, traditional meal from a different country of the world every night.

Each time Claire turns up again a couple nights later, smelling of cologne and with hair dyed a new pastel colour - blue, or apricot, or green.

Zach knows better than to ask where she's been. He doesn't want to know.

He'd never guess that Claire spends this time alone, pained and pacing a hotel room across the city, or occasionally at meets with her superiors across the country.

Their reunions are an immense relief to both of them. Heated, frantic kisses as though they are trying to swallow each other whole. Intense, frustrated sex. Sometimes they don't make it to the bed.

.:.

Their time is up. Claire gets the call to break it off and head back home.

She leaves a couple of clues around his place. Then finally a couple of her passports and fake IDs, foreign currency and her gun in the bottom drawer of the dresser. It'll make it easier this way - it'll look as though she never intended to tell him, just got sloppy.

It'll hurt him more. It'll make it a clean break, make it easier for her. My god she's selfish.

She will never forget the day that she gets back from the supermarket to find him sitting at the kitchen table, the evidence right in front of him.

At the look on his face, the brown paper bag in her hands falls to the floor.

_"What _are_ you?"_

Not who, _what_.

And then those words fall from her lips.

_I work for the CIA._

_My mission was to gather intel on your mother's company._

_Claire doesn't exist. I had to act and look that way; I had to vanish those days. To keep you hooked. To get the job done._

Zach's response to her explanation was simple.

_"You never _had_ to do anything."_

He's hurting and she can't take it.

The eggs lay shattered on the goddamn floor.

She wishes he would get truly mad with her.

Shout at her, throw shit, anything but just sit there and look at her disgusted. Like he's never known her at all when he fucking knows her better than anyone else fucking does.

_No, my name isn't Claire. It's Cameron Morgan._

_It was all a cover._

_No, I never loved you._

And the fact of the matter is that he believed everything she said.

(Of course, it's all true - apart from the last one, but that's beside the point.)

And the fact of the matter is that it was the last day they saw each other.

* * *

**f**in.


	2. plus

**a**/**n**: oke so bc ily guys i wrote another part thats probably awful but anyways it goes in the middle somewhere. hope youve had a great day wherever u are XX

* * *

Somewhere along the way, Claire's period is late by a couple days. She seizes on to this possibility, remote as it may be.

There was that night a couple weeks ago where they were both exhausted and angry and sick of their jobs wrecking their lives. Where she was resentful and panting and just wanting him inside of her and he was too tired to argue.

She's always wanted a kid. Maybe this is it. Maybe Zach will want this too. Maybe she can stay a little longer.

That evening as they watch television Claire sits on the couch with her cold feet in Zach's lap wondering how it would feel to have a child in her belly.

She mulls it over. This is what she wants.

The next morning she's bleeding and she cries bitter tears laying there on the bathroom floor.

It was a long shot but she's desperate for a reason to stay and she just wanted things to go her way this time, _this one fucking time._

Claire spends the rest of the day watching soap operas and eating peanut butter right out of the jar with her fingers. She's sulking and she's pathetic and she of all people knows it.

Zach has no clue what's going on, he never fucking does, and he just strokes her blue hair back from her flushed cheeks and tells her that everything will work out just fine when of course it won't.

He still looks at her as though she holds the secrets to the Universe and she hates him for it.

.:.

A couple days later, Zach gets back from a long day of work to find Claire tipsy in the living room, eyes closed and dancing to trance music.

The vodka bottle on the table is half-empty.

She has never looked so serene or more lovely in her life.

Zach's phone rings shrilly. He hastily steps out on the balcony to answer it. He's gone awhile.

Claire skulls the rest of the vodka, and strips all her clothes off. Zips up a short, black, low-cut dress and carelessly applies some eyeliner. She needs to get out.

The street is loud and her bare feet are sore. She's disorientated and can barely stand.

Claire can handle her liquor but this is pushing it.

Zach finishes his call, sees the empty bottle and the open door, and grabs his coat and keys.

He searches all of the nightclubs in the area, through the strobe lights and grinding bodies, for Claire. His worry grows.

Two hours later, he finds her in the bar around the corner from the apartment block. Eyes resting closed, her pale pink hair tumbles around her as her head leans heavily against the bar counter.

Zach's so relieved it hurts.

Claire opens her eyes blearily to see him there beside her. She watches him run his hand through his wavy brown hair and wishes she could do it for him.

_"I looked everywhere for you."_

_"I'm sorry. I don't know what's going on."_

He drags her back to the apartment, carrying her at one point, her head lolling back and her body limp. The next hours are spent with her crouched over the toilet, her insides coming out.

Zach holds her hair and rubs her back and plies her with water because he's perfect (and she doesn't deserve him).

Claire showers and brushes her teeth ten times before coming to bed.

She kisses him. She smells minty and her lips burn his.

Claire lays her body down beside him and rests her head on his chest and tells him _I'm sorry_ again and again and again.

Zach thinks it's because she feels guilty about tonight and tells her _it's okay, don't worry_, but in reality it's about everything, this entire fucking thing and of course she's worrying because this wasn't the plan and she's in too deep and they're both too attached, she'll have to leave soon and this wasn't the goddamn plan.


End file.
